Chapter Text
Gothel had to have been mistaken. This little gremlin could not be hers. There was absolutely no chance that the red, tiny, screaming infant – with no hair to boast – was hers. She would have to peel away the little fingers that were gripped to her underdress and return the child to their mother. Well, if the child would let go.
“Gothel!” Grimhilde called, prompting the baby to screech in response. “Gothel, bring me my baby!”
The woman – raven tresses from her glory days and all – walked through the door frame. Stopping just inches away from the former Queen of Charmington, Mother Gothel crossed her arms.
“That is your baby. I just practically ripped her out of you. Where else would your baby be?”
“She looks like a goblin. A gremlin. She’s bald!” Grmihilde cried, her face beet red either from exasperation or the heat in the room. Although it was early October, normally the temperatures in Auradon would be mild. But of course they were on the Isle – an island of grime, trash and trapped heat.
“Of course she’s bald. The only baby born to this dump with hair is Maleficent’s. And what a gorgeous head of brown she has to match those green eyes,” Gothel marveled, Grimhilde’s heart nearly about to burst.
First, the baby (that by the way, was not hers) is bald. Second, the horrid name of that woman had to be mentioned. Oh how she wanted to–
“Hey Queenie! Let us see the baby,” a chorus of familiar voices called from outside the Castle Across the Way. “We want to see it.”
She couldn’t figure out how rumor had spread that any of them were thought to be the father of her baby – wherever her baby was. Grimhilde gave Gothel one look, the woman shouting expletives out the window and shutting it with a heavy thud.
“Well if you think your child looks like a goblin, maybe–” Gothel suggested with a cackle, beginning to walk away. Grimhilde threw an empty perfume bottle at the woman, Gothel just barely making it out the door frame as it shattered into glass shards. “I’ll go, I’ll go. Give me a shout if you need anything.”
“I need my baby!” Grimhilde said, her voice cracking.
Gothel was already down the winding steps. Her voice barely carried back up the stairs, asserting that the baby still clinging to the strap of Grimhilde’s underdress was indeed her baby. Speaking of whom, she began to whimper. Grimhilde scowled, placing her fingers to the baby’s exposed bald head. In an instant, the baby quieted.
“Maybe I’ll name you Whimpering Gremlin,” she whispered, the baby loosening her grip. Peeling the baby’s fingers away, Grimhilde’s hand became the new target. Her hand curled around Grimhilde’s thumb, the woman giving up. “You won’t let go will you?”
“You're strange in a very endearing way,” she muttered, eyeing the baby whose legs were curled across her chest. The baby still had yet to open her eyes that were shut tight. Grimhilde remembered Gothel mentioning something about wiping away some of the fluid with the warm water at her bedside. But this wasn’t her baby, so why would she bother? Just when Grimhilde finally freed her thumb, sudden loud and heavy breathing caught her off guard.
“Of course you would fall asleep, forcing me to let you stay. I’ll keep you around until tomorrow. But after that you'll be sent back to Gothel. Got it?” she said, her last words lingering.
Of course Whimpering Gremlin didn’t respond. And it didn’t matter. Though Grimhilde had spoken that the baby was not allowed to stay, her heart – whether she was aware of it or not – was already made up. By January, Whimpering Gremlin had already overstayed her welcome by four months and counting.